Completion
by Echante
Summary: After both season finales. Deals with sex, fixing what is broken and what I feel is inevitable.


I have been completely unable to finish a story for the longest time, I kept starting them and then they would just end in the middle of a sentance. I couldn't continue. And now finally, I have done it! I'm surprisingly proud of this one, please review!

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Your thoughts have taken a shift recently; you're not quite sure what triggered it, or what it really means, but they've been depressive, distant… dreamy. Noah came to visit you again and you ignored him; looked through him to your ocean view. There's something missing, a component, a piece of you that has just crumpled and now you no longer find the worth of living, it scares you a bit, but mostly; you live in a daze. You recognize the feeling. That's what unnerves you.

He finds you in a similar way, knocks on the door in the same pattern he invented the last time. You gravitate towards him, he entrances you, and he unlocks your current state. You absolutely loathe him.

"Hi." You allow him to walk in, no invitation, just silence. He reads you anyways. He always has.

"Addison." He says back, "What's happened to you?"

"I'm fine." You tell him, eyebrows raised, voice surprised. You've always been a good actress, deceiving him was always your greatest challenge.

"Bullshit." He calls you on it without effortlessly, as if by afterthought and tacks on a formality at the end, "Would you like something to drink?"

You nod at him and point a crooked finger towards the cabinet, "There's white wine on the top shelf."

He nods his understanding and prepares two glasses. You study him awhile, reacquainting yourself with the crevices of his body. You know it too well.

"What happened to you?" You ask him, there's something slightly elusive about his walk, you think there's secrecy in his steps.

"Nothing." He says it quickly, eyes darting.

"Really?"

"Derek's getting married." He offers this piece of information as sacrifice.

"I know." You tell him, a wry smile etched on your face, "You told me last time I came to visit you."

He nods agreeing, as if he'd forgotten. You know he didn't.

"Mark?" You say. He winces at the sound of your voice wringing his name.

"Yeah." He grunts.

You can't bring yourself to say it, you know you should, you know that the reason the two of you gravitate towards each other is because you're both completely fucked up. You know he'd understand but you cannot find the words. He's struggling with his own demons.

"I went to a gypsy the other day." He laughs as he says it.

"Really?" You giggle, "What was that like?"

"Stupid." He's grinning now, "I don't know why I did it."

"What'd she say?"

"Stupid shit. Love. Destiny… How everything in my life is completely fucked up. She thinks I'm unhappy."

"Are you?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Mark." You sigh, because it's become obvious to you that of the two of you, Mark still hasn't hit the downhill fall.

"Addison." He echoes your name after his, and some part of you tells you it is where it belongs.

"We can never really be happy."

He's bitter now, he doesn't like what you have to say, "Why the fuck not?"

"Because you're here." It's simple, it really is, "Because you have a beautiful woman waiting for you at home and you're here."

"I needed closure."

"Really? Or do you need redemption for what we did?"

"Isn't it all the same?"

"We lost love somewhere along the way. You don't get closure… just like I don't really fall in love with married men."

He sighs, "I know."

"I thought I did."

"I know." You can feel his arms start to encompass you and they have been the trigger for too many tears. You let water fall from your eyes nonetheless.

"I hate you, you know?"

"I do."

"If there was anyway, I'd live without you."

"I know."

"But I can't." He kisses you right then, and it feels like shit; the pain courses through your body and stabs at your soul, howling profanities. It hurts and you cry harder. He doesn't stop at your tears, he pushes through them. You grab his neck pulling him closer.

"The gypsy said I needed to confront my nightmares." He tells you, whispers it against your neck. You finger the edge of his shirt, teasing his buttons off his chest.

"Am I your worst nightmare?" You gasp at him.

He growls the response, hands twisted in your hair, "Worst, and best," is his answer for you. Somehow, you completely understand.

And when his tongue laps around your belly and his hands slip beneath your waist, you realize with a startling cry that you can feel again. He touches you and he's your worst desire.

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By the way, what's a good storyline that you would like the read? Anything?


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